


Braids

by sunaddicted



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Cute, Father-Daughter Relationship, Father-Son Relationship, Hair Braiding, Other, Sweet, the reason why Thranduil doesn't braid his hair
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-16
Updated: 2015-08-16
Packaged: 2018-04-15 01:35:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4588044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunaddicted/pseuds/sunaddicted
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Ada?” Tauriel calls, tugging softly at the silvery and soft robe her adoptive father wears to bed “Why do you never braid your hair?” she asks curiously; Ada’s hair is long and pretty.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Braids

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Autheane](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Autheane/gifts).



> This is for Autheane because, like me, she needs more Thranduil-Oropher cuteness to rot her teeth <3

_Braids_

Everyone in his realm knows that the Elvenking isn’t actually made of ice, despite the elegant coldness in his voice and the frosty grace of his choreographed movements. But nobody has ever seen him without his beautifully crafted mask on and admired his true and raw self – nobody except the two elflings sprawled on his bed, sitting between his thighs and looking up at him with eyes big and glimmering with childish glee and unrestricted affection.

Thranduil smiles softly at them and drops a loud kiss on both foreheads, inhaling the comforting scent of the chamomile-perfumed soap he has used to bathe them. They smear wet pecks on his right cheek, avoiding the left and ruined one: in the privacy of his rooms he doesn’t hide behind a glamor the devastation dragon fire has brought upon his beauty, making half of his face a horrid spectacle to gaze upon.

“Ada, braid my hair?” Legolas asks, offering a wooden comb to prompt a positive answer.

“Of course, ion-nin” Tauriel crawls to sit next to him, leaving enough space of movement to her brother, and cuddles sleepily in his side. Thranduil caresses her crimson-red hair, tucking a few strands behind her little pointy ears “Don’t you want your hair braided, Ta-Ta?” He would gladly call her iell-nin – he loves her as if she was his own daughter – but she always seems slightly uncomfortable with the term.

Tauriel shakes her head “ ’m tired”

Thranduil hums in understanding and sets to braiding his son’s hair, who purrs contentedly at the attention poured over him. He works quietly, basking in the relaxed atmosphere after an exhausting day of seeing to his duties and the warmth of his children snuggled so close to him that he can hear the reassuring rhythm of their heartbeats; happiness washes over him, melting away the last of his icy Elvenking persona.

“Ada?” Tauriel calls, tugging softly at the silvery and soft robe her adoptive father wears to bed “Why do you never braid your hair?” she asks curiously; Ada’s hair is long and pretty.

Legolas glances up, interested in his Ada’s answer.

Thranduil shrugs carelessly while tying the braid with a leather cord, a slightly forced smile painted on his lips “I just don’t like it braided” he says quickly before clapping his hands “Time to go to bed!” he announces and holds the covers open to let the elflings slid underneath and take their usual spots by his sides “Good night, my dears”

* * *

 

Oropher sighs as a beaming and mud-caked Thranduil greets him at the entrance of their chambers, not a single inch of creamy-white skin visible under the dirt splattered all over him and slowly dripping to the floor “Tell me you didn’t sit on my bed” he pleads, a smile glowing softly on his tired face.

“Of course not, Ada” he answers snootily, turning his nose up as if offended by his father’s insinuation.

The older elf shakes his head at his son’s theatrics and scoops him up in his arms, internally cringing at the mess his forest-green robes are going to be and fervently hoping none of the elf maids will skin them alive when they receive their garments for cleaning – at least, carrying Thranduil in his arms, he’s avoiding having muddy footprints all over the place.

He dumps the elfling in the natural pool of water the river creates in the bathroom and Thranduil shrieks at the sudden feeling of wetness clinging to him and shoots him an adorable glare with his crystal-clear eyes “Ada!”

Oropher laughs as he discards his robes, joining his son after retrieving a bar of soap to scrub him clean “Ion-nin!” he shouts back, mocking him and undoing the laces that keep his son’s robes on him “You’re filthy! What did you do?” While being a very active child – too active, sometimes he asks himself whether he made a mistake naming him Vigorous Spring – usually Thranduil didn’t end up as if he had been swallowed up and threw up by the forest.

“I was chasing a baby deer! And I had to crawl on the earth to not startle it” Thranduil explains, grimacing as his Ada starts to vigorously scrub his hair, plucking leaves and grass out of it.

Oropher rolls his eyes, ignoring his son’s obsession for the time being “Rinse your hair” he orders gently before tending to his own.

Thranduil waits for him to be done and fetch a towel before climbing out of the pool. He scowls again when he’s dumped on the bed but giggles when his Ada bends down and starts tickling him mercilessly, grinning broadly and dripping water over the covers. He stops only when his breath is short and his eyelids start to droop with exhaustion “Adaaa”

The king kisses him on the brow and dresses them both for bed, ready to snuggle close to his son under the covers. Softly, he hums a lullaby and braids Thranduil’s silky hair in a single and thick braid “I love you so much, ion-nin”

* * *

 

The following morning, Thranduil observes his reflection in the mirror, fingertips caressing his hair "I miss you, Ada"


End file.
